


Wishin' on a Last Hope

by pastelpilots



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Action & Romance, M/M, Magic, Multichapter, aspiring comic book artist Gerard, slow building romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelpilots/pseuds/pastelpilots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a quick breath, he whispered his wish against his tightly wound knuckles, “Please…uh… God, or, whoever is listening, please work whatever voodoo magical bullshit you can and give me the strength to make something that doesn't suck total ass. I would really appreciate it, especially if you could help me rack in a few more dollars than usual, that’d be real sweet. I don’t really care how you do it, just make it happen, please. Uh, anyway, praise be the lord, hallelujah, amen?”<br/>-<br/>When you run out of options, even the craziest of schemes seem appealing -- but sometimes wishing on your last hope isn't the best idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishin' on a Last Hope

Pencil on paper, hands moved fluid. The scratch of the lead was drowned out by the electric fan whirring in the corner of the room. It twisted at a steady pace, airing the room and blowing Gerard’s jet black hair away from his unwashed face. He blocked out the breeze, his mind focused on pouring out the ideas that stirred in hisimagination; he hummed gently to a tuneless song as he sketched out his newest character — to him, the song was a badass ballad that built from quiet piano tinkles to heavy guitar riffs. To others, that didn’t quite come across.

 

“Can you not do that?” Mikey questioned from his usual space on the dirty basement carpet, sat so close to the TV it wasn’t really a wonder the kid needed glasses. His hands were wrapped around his PS2 control, but he was looking at Gerard, his face expressionless but the message very clear - _shut the fuck up_.

 

“You don’t have to be here,” Gerard said, returning to his work. He heard Mikey sigh, but he didn’t leave. Gerard knew he wouldn’t leave. Gerard didn’t want him to leave. 

 

Another ten minutes passed, fan whirring, Gerard humming, Mikey swearing, pencil scratching. He had thought this was the one, the one to break him from his creative slump, to soar him back into the world of superheroes and radioactive aliens. All of his hopes had been pinned on this character. Being the aspiring comic book artist that he was, whenever he managed to make something good enough, he would show it to his old boss, Brian, who ran the local comic book store. If it was good enough, Brian would make him a couple copies for a couple dollars so he could sell them to the sci-fi geeks that came in the shop after school. Gerard had quit his job specifically so he could focus on his art, and for a while he’d been doing alright. He didn’t have a huge following, but he had _at least_ three loyal customers who were always hounding him for his newest creation. Problem was, it’d been around two months since Gerard had produced anything worth while, and if this idea failed, he knew he’d struggle to work up the confidence to draw again. 

 

“Mother _fucker,_ ” Gerard threw his pencil down and rubbed his hands across his face, a low monotonous groan rumbled in his throat. 

 

“Dude,” Mikey said, patting the space beside him, “sit.”

 

Gerard slumped off his bed and crawled over to Mikey. Mikey handed him the player two control without a word, and the two of them picked up the game from where Mikey had left off. It was an open invitation to talk, Gerard knew that, but he stayed silent for the first ten minutes, absorbing himself in the game and debating whether or not he should just give up.

 

He decided to talk, in the end. “I just thought it was the one, you know?” he slumped his head against Mikey’s shoulder as he spoke, keeping his eyes trained on the gory game action. 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Maybe I should just admit defeat,” Gerard sighed, dejected. He watched as Mikey made another kill, a knife slash straight through the throat. Blood sprayed the screen as his victim fell to the ground; its dull moans fading as his character walked away, without an inch of remorse on his stony face.Gerard wished he could be like that, sometimes — reckless without abandon, no inhibitions. He thought maybe if he were, he’d be able to make something that was actually maybe sort of important to more people than just those three chemistry nerds, who only read his comics because they couldn’t get laid on the weekends.

 

Not that Gerard was having much luck in that department either, but that was a tale for another time.

 

There was silence, a pause in the atmosphere that confused him, before Mikey placed his controller down gently, and then turned to face Gerard so quick he knocked him from his shoulder. 

 

“No,” he said, which only confused Gerard further. 

 

“No? What do you mean no?”

 

“I mean you’re not giving up,” Mikey stood up, brushed himself down and shoved his feet in his old gym trainers; they were worn, torn and pretty much ruined, with bits peeling from the sides, and Gerard was sure there was a hole in the sole, but Mikey didn’t seem to care as he held his hand out, gesturing for Gerard to get off the floor, “come on.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“ _We’re_ going outside.” Mikey pulled Gerard up and walked towards the door, only explaining further when Gerard didn’t follow, “You’ve been in here since yesterday morning, lack of oxygen is affecting you. You’re saying crazy stuff again.”

 

Gerard frowned, “I am not saying crazy stuff!” He didn’t like it when his family took digs at him for spending time in his basement. It was his favourite place — the walls were hidden behind badly cutout band interviews and photocopied posters of his favourite heroes and villains, his bed had a nice groove in the middle that he fit into perfectly, his floor was scattered with open sketchbooks and dirty laundry, and his tv was set up beside his dresser; a crappy little thing, that couldn’t even play any of the basic channels, but it could run his old PS2 system pretty well and that’s all that he cared about. It was dark and dingy and everything he loved — familiar and comforting, but most importantly, it was inspirational. Or at least, it used to be. “I just can’t think of anything…anything interesting enough.”

 

“Which is why you need to leave.” Gerard could tell by his tone of voice that Mikey wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so he rolled his eyes and followed, slipping his feet into a pair of flip-flops that were by the door. They were purple, covered in twinkling rhinestones, and he was almost sure they were his mothers, but he didn’t care much — a shoe was a shoe, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t comfy as hell.

 

He hadn’t realised how sunny it was outside. He followed after Mikey, squinting at the sun and cursing himself for not bringing his sunglasses. “Where exactly are we going?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him now that they were actually outside.

 

“Um,” Mikey paused, scratching the back of his head, “I dunno, I didn’t think that far ahead. I guess we’ll just…see where the road takes us?”

 

“You’re as inspirational as ever, Mikey Way,”Gerard said sarcastically. Mikey ignored him, and they continued their journey in silence, both absorbing the charming atmosphere of the afternoon glow. Gerard reluctantly thought back to his failed drawing, of what a strike to his confidence that had been. He didn’t know if he had the courage to try again, it was his fifth failed idea in the past two weeks, and he was becoming sloppier with each disastrous attempt. He thought that maybe he’d just have to face reality — he was a 25 year old jobless, failed artist, who was still living in his parents basement with his 21 year old brother, wasting his days away into an eventual pit of nothingness that would wear him into a crippling depression by the time he reached his thirties. Maybe it really was time to throw the towel in and find one of those real, career-building, reliable jobs that would make his parents happy. Maybe it was time to give up on his dreams.

 

He was just about to voice his latest revelation, but Mikey spoke before he had the chance.

 

“I just had an idea, come on.” Mikey took off ahead, his steady stroll turning into an urgent jog. Gerard tried to keep pace, but fell behind a few steps — which wasn’t completely unimpressive, considering his lack of athletic ability and the handicap of his mum’s budget store flip-flops holding him back. Mikey led the both off them to a field that Gerard had never seen before. Mikey seemed to know where he was going though, and they kept moving until they came across an area that was shaded by large willow trees and covered in tall, flowery grass.

 

Gerard stood still, caught his breath and looked around. 

 

“A wishing well?”

 

Mikey nodded.

 

Gerard stared at it. Its bricks were worn and weathered, with vines surging through the cracks, hugging them to keep the structure in place. It looked old; as if it had seen at least a single person from each extraordinary variety. It didn’t matter, he thought, how unique and individual those people may have been, they all visited for the exact same reason as everybody else — they wanted something they couldn’t have, and they had run out of options.

 

“This is stupid.”

 

“No, it isn’t.” Mikey moved closer, resting his hands atop the bricks to peer inside. It smelled damp. He looked back at Gerard, silently asking him to join him, to soak up the magical aura, to do _something._ But Gerard didn’t do anything, he just stood still, looking bewildered that Mikey would even suggest something so silly.

 

“Come on, it’s worth a shot,” Mikey tried. He knew if he pushed hard enough, Gerard would give in. He always did. “I’ll do it too,” he said, leaning forwards to look further into the well. He closed his eyes, making a show of putting on a voice he considered to be the epitome of sincere, “I wish my brother wasn’t such an annoying fuck,” he cast a coy smile Gerard's way, flipping the coin into the well, “see? It’s simple.”

 

Gerard rolled his eyes, but he moved forwards to stand beside Mikey, watching as the water rippled when the coin hit the surface. He stared for a while, watching as the water stopped moving, waiting patiently for the next gullible fool that came along, hopeless, with a pocket full of change and brain full of last wishes. The wind brushed past Gerard’s cheek; he looked at Mikey, then back at the well, and then back at Mikey, and then repeated, “This is stupid.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Mikey sounded so sure. He took Gerard’s hand for a brief moment, pressing a coin into his palm, before stepping backwards and giving Gerard space, as if that would help him make the ‘right’ decision. Gerard didn’t know if Mikey truly believed it would work, but he knew Mikey cared enough to try and make him believe that he thought it would work, and that was the only push Gerard needed. 

 

He closed his eyes and held the coin tight. He could feel the clammy metal rigid against his palm, cutting his skin with how hard he was holding it. He felt Mikey move away from him, giving him some privacy — _God bless him—_ and encouraging him to go for it. He tried to beat away the part of his brain that kept telling him this was a redundant idea. Instead, he focused on the small part of him that actually believed this would make a difference, and really this was his last hope — it was worth a shot. 

 

With a quick breath, he whispered his wish against his tightly wound knuckles, “Please…uh… God, or, whoever is listening, please work whatever voodoo magical bullshit you can and give me the strength to make something that doesn't suck total ass. I would really appreciate it, especially if you could help me rack in a few more dollars than usual, that’d be real sweet. I don’t really care how you do it, just make it happen, please. Uh, anyway, praise be the lord, hallelujah, amen?” he finished his jagged speech with a soft toss of his hand, the coin flying from his sweaty palm into the depths of the well. He watched as the water disturbed once more, and thought to himself, _I guess this makes me the gullible fool._

 

“That was beautiful, Gee,” Mikey was very suddenly beside him, throwing his arm over Gerard’s shoulders, making him jump, “but I don’t think throwing a coin in some water is a huge religious experience.”

 

“You were listening?!” Gerard shouted, absolutely scandalised, “you know it doesn't work if someone listens!” He pushed Mikey’s arm from his shoulders and frowned, hating how he’d been tricked into doing something so ridiculous for no reason. 

 

“Didn’t you think this was stupid, like, thirty seconds ago?”

 

“Yeah, but, what if it isn’t?” he said quickly, trying not to sound like a hypocrite. He hated sounding like a hypocrite. “Now we’ll never know!”

 

“I’m sure the magical fountain fairies aren't picky,” Mikey reassured. He rocked back on his heels, looked up at the sky, then down at the grass, and then finally at Gerard, “Can we get coffee?

 


End file.
